The Mandela Effect
by NarniaRoyalNavy123
Summary: Washington, D.C., where the FBI and DARPA protect and serve the USA. An FBI Special Agent and his team at the Jeffersonian have a case involving a curious looking corpse. A covert branch at DARPA grieves for their friend, even when some think he's still alive. These two groups combine thanks to a particular phenomenon. One-shot.


**I'm surprised I'm the only one who thought of this. But in any case, I own nothing except the OCs.**

 **Bones Episode: 05x06 - _Tough Man in the Tender Chicken._**

 **Sigma Force series: Between _The Judas Strain_ and _The Last Oracle._**

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NOTES FROM THE HISTORICAL/SCIENTIFIC RECORD

The Mandela effect is the observed phenomenon of people having clear memories of events that did not occur or misremembering significant events and facts. The term can either mean when people around the world share the same false memories, or when there is any incident of a false memory. The phenomenon gets its name from Nelson Mandela, the former president of South Africa. Many people mistakenly believed he died in prison in the 1980s, when he, in fact, passed away in 2013. According to various theories, the Mandela effect is evidence of implanted memories or parallel universes. In psychology, however, the effect is explained by the human capacity for not only fabricating and distorting memories but also making them as clear and detailed as actual events.

Modern Day

In the J. Edgar Hoover FBI Headquarters, Special Agent Seeley is in his office with his partner Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian Institute. Booth is on the phone with the Director of DARPA, along with one of the low-level Directors and one of their computer analysts. Though he doesn't like it, he has to follow up on the crazy-yet-plausible lead Hodgins suggested. The idea that government experimenting on soldiers rubs him the wrong way. Making him half-hope the lead follows through so he can charge one of the higher-ups for endangering lives and covering up fatalities.

"Why a chicken?" he can't help but ask the woman sitting at his desk as he starts to transmit the file. Out of all the animals in the world, and they chose a chicken?

"Wendall thinks maybe he was supposed to be an eagle," she offers, only slightly confident in the conjecture. The long face ended with a sharp, prominent chin. His nose is almost proportionally as long and sharp as the head. Perhaps an eagle was the goal, but in the end, the man is a chicken.

"Alright, you should be getting it now," Booth says into the phone, then quickly talks again to Brennan. With her, he isn't afraid or hesitant to say what's on his mind. And boy, did he have a lot to talk about with this one. "You know, you make a super soldier, you'd think it'd be a like robot or something invisible." Or that would be his ideal, at least. After all, why give the enemy a target that is still flesh and bone, or in this case, highly noticeable.

"Now you're just delving into pure science fiction," Brennan criticizes.

"Like a flatworm, that's not science fiction," Booth counters, a slight tone of mocking in his voice. "Or a half chicken, that's not considered science fiction." _Honestly, it's like she doesn't want the bizarre to be proven real_ , he can't help thinking.

"Agent Booth?" the voice of the DARPA Director asks.

"Yeah," he responds.

"We've reviewed the image."

"Okay, so we agree he does look like a chicken," Booth states with a slight question in his voice.

"You're not messing with us?" another voice, belonging to the analyst, asks with obvious doubt.

"No, it is not a joke," Booth confirms, though he can't help the exasperation from seeping into his words. Both at the situation and at the fact his integrity is being questioned. Especially by a man, Booth suspects, is younger than him. "Just tell me if we... if we have your missing DARPA guy."

"I'm sorry, Agent, but this man is not a DARPA employee," a third voice, this one the other Director, denies. But Booth hears the emotion in the sentence. It can be sadness it can be guilt, Booth doesn't care. There's something one of the men is reacting to, and Booth needs to expose it.

"Does your missing sergeant look anything like an animal? Any animal?" he pushes for an answer. He hears a sigh, possibly one of regret or sorrow. Maybe even both.

"A bulldog, I'm afraid. Good luck to you, Agent," the same Director replies, then the line clicks.

"A bulldog," he repeats to Brennan as he hangs up, himself. Now he's annoyed, but he doesn't know whether it's at himself or the DARPA Directors. Brennan breathes out a quiet sigh in response, disappointed in the lack of results.

"So the defense department won't be claiming the body?" she asks, mostly to confirm that her team will still work on the victim.

"Nope," Booth says, still annoyed.

On the street below them, two people walk out of the building and into the crowds of foot traffic. One of them, a tall white woman in her fifties, is a professor at the Catholic University of America. The other is a young beat cop of African heritage on the short side, his light brown skin looking darker in his uniform. The pair had walked into the building as an officer escorting a civilian who agreed to testify on a smuggling ring exploiting her students. They walk out as if they are old friends discussing the latest news. Except that they aren't.

"I'm not saying it's not possible, Volcain, I'm just saying it's hard to prove," the professor says calmly as the two continue on the sidewalk.

"Isn't it proof enough that these things are happening in the first place?!" the cop, Volcain, nearly shouts in frustrated excitement. "Professor Adamoli, people remember either this or that. And this has been going on since the forties. How do you explain the nonexistent monocle on the Monopoly guy? Or that the show is called Looney Tunes, T-U-N-E-S, and not T-O-O-N-S? It happened with Snow White, it happened with Forrest Gump, and it even happened with Star Wars. You even admitted that you remember the Sinbad movie in the nineties!"

"I did, and I still do. But I also do not believe the Mandela effect is proof of travel between parallel universes. Miscommunication is just as likely the culprit."

"Then how do you explain the one political event that this thing is named after, huh?"

"The answer is in the question itself. A guard or some government official spread rumors of Mandela's demise so people would stop protesting apartheid-" The professor is cut-off when Officer Volcain suddenly pulls her towards him. She did not notice that she walked off the curb, nor did she see the speeding car that was pulling up to park. The driver rolls down his window to yell at the two, but then he notices the police uniform and speeds back into traffic. The spot is a loading zone, after all. Volcain, the license number fresh in his head, turns on the radio at his shoulder and calls the incident.

Professor Adamoli has experienced whiplash before, but this time is somehow worse. Her brain is fuzzy, and as she looks around, it's like she's seeing and hearing everything through glass. She snaps out of it when Volcain shakes her shoulder. "I'm alright," she says, surprising them both with a hoarse voice. She clears her throat and repeats herself. She's alright. But then she blinks as she realizes something. "What were we talking about?"

"You were chastising me for not having a wild enough imagination to believe in parallel universes. Come on, professor, that stuffs only in Doctor Who and DC Comics," the officer replies with a smirk.

"All I'm saying is that these events should be enough to spark your curiosity in the world around you, Volcain," the professor remarks with a smile on her own. "Honestly, I feel as if this conversation should be the other way around."

"Not me," Volcain disagrees, "I am perfectly happy remaining sane." They share a laugh and continue on their way to the National Mall.

Underneath the National Mall, in the sub-basements of the Smithsonian Castle, a conference room for Sigma Force is being used by DARPA Director Sean McKnight, Sigma Director Painter Crowe, and computer analyst Jason Carter. They have finished talking to an FBI agent that wanted help identifying a body. A body the three of them all worried and hoped was their friend and fellow agent, Dr. and Staff Sargeant Monk Kokkalis. But it the image they received was the face of a stranger.

Painter is relieved, and therefore mad at himself, that the body isn't Monk's. _Kat won't have to go through another funeral_ , he thinks, envisioning his second-in-command's reaction if the body had been her husband's. _Anything to spare her should be a good thing, right?_ McKnight claps Painter on the shoulder, bringing the latter from his thoughts.

"This part of the job is never going to get any easier," McKnight reminds and warns at the same time. Painter hears both. To be a leader, one has to expect and handle fatalities, or else step down. He nods to McKnight in understanding and watches him make his leave. At the door, McKnight turns back at the two. "There's no need to remind you both that Captain Byrant never learns of this meeting. So instead I'll remind you that Commander Pierce will also never learn of this." They all share a look of understanding. It was Gray Pierce's fault that a voice whispers in their heads, insisting that Monk is still alive. Monk's prosthetic hand had allegedly tapped out an SOS, but no one could prove it. Ever since then, Gray has used ever resource at Sigma to try and locate Monk. Nothing has proven fruitful, including this call.

When McKight leaves, Jason attaches a pair of headphones into the computer used to receive the file and record the conversation. The kid starts typing, and Painter makes his way over. Jason is apparently going over the audio of the conversation, but Painter has no idea why. When Jason suddenly gasps, Painter grabs his shoulder in concern. Jason removes his headphones and looks over at his boss, red coloring his cheeks.

"Sorry," the kid apologizes, "I didn't mean to react like that. But it's just that I wanted to go over the conversation again. And then I got to the part where the agent asks for confirmation on the image... I swear to you, Director, that when we were talking to the agent, I thought he asked us if the victim looks like a _chicken_." Painter raises his eyebrows. That is not at all what he remembered the agent say. The agent most definitely said _owl_. Painter examines the victim's face again. Though clearly bird-like, Painter can't make himself say it's a chicken. The face is too round and the beak nose too small. The only bird that comes to mind is an owl.

"You're sure that's what you heard? A chicken?" Painter asks, not doubting Jason's words, but just wanting confirmation.

"Yeah, but when I played it over again, the agent clearly says owl. And apparently, you heard him say owl in the first place. I haven't a clue why I heard _chicken_. And I'm pretty sure I heard you say bulldog," Jason admits, a darker red growing on his cheeks. Painter raises his eyebrows again. _No, I didn't... Did I?_

The Director takes the headphones from Jason and puts them on just in time to hear the end of the phone call.

" _A pit bull,_ _I'm afraid. Good luck to you, Agent_." Painter hears the click and the dial tone of the phone. He looks over to Jason, who follows the silent order and takes his turn listening to the recording. Painter knows Jason's at the end when the kid's eyes widen comically. A pit bull, and not a bulldog. A difference that isn't as significant as before, but it's there. And Jason is seriously getting annoyed at being wrong. Painter just pats the kid's back in sympathy.

"Mandela effect," Painter says dryly. Jason snorts in reply. Though a fun theory to speculate, neither man believes the idea of a parallel universe. And why should they? This one is crazy enough as it is.

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 **Please R &R! Lot's of Love!**

 **~Navy**


End file.
